To Fly
by wildwisteria
Summary: As the first muggleborn Slytherin quidditch captain, Nessa Starling has a lot to prove. Will she have what it takes to win the house cup? JamesxOC
1. September

**Chapter 1 – September**

* * *

AN: Hiya, everyone! Hope you're all having a lovely day/night. This is the first chapter of my Slytherin quidditch love story about a muggleborn _chasing_ her dreams (see what I did there?). I plan on updating on the first of every month!

* * *

Touch The Sky – Julie Fowlis

 _I will ride, I will fly, chase the wind and touch the sky._

* * *

Nessa Starling's timing couldn't be worse. Her flight from JFK had been delayed by high winds, and as a result, she'd missed her connection from Dublin to London. By the time she rolled up to Kings Cross with her mother in tow, a late summer cloudburst had hit. Making it abundantly clear fate was against her return to Hogwarts.

"I'll forward your luggage to school," her mother reassured as they jogged through the station, shaking rain droplets off their jackets. "It couldn't have gotten far," she said, trying to keep her breath even at the fierce pace her daughter set. "It doesn't have legs like the one in that magazine you showed me last Christmas. What was it called? Bitch Weekly?"

"Mum," Nessa said in a clipped tone, scandalized. "It's _Witch Weekly._ "

Her mother shrugged, not bothered, but Nessa winced. She hadn't meant to snap. It wasn't her mother's fault the flight in from New York had been delayed, or that the line for immigration had been long.

After swinging her pack over a shoulder, she grabbed her mother's hand to guide her through the barrier for platform 9 ¾. Mrs. Starling tensed, as she always did when it came to anything strange and magic-related, but shook it off soon after, smoothing down her blazer once they were through. She'd taken off work this morning to pick Nessa up from the airport and say goodbye. It was a sweet gesture, considering Mr. Starling couldn't make it this year.

"You cannot be alone or your final send off to school. I won't allow it," her mother had said on the subject earlier that summer. Her eyes welled with tears. "My baby. So grown up."

The crowd this terms seemed thicker than usual. Families huddled close, doling out late minute kisses and words of wisdom. But as soon as the first warning whistle blew, most of the kids scattered for the train doors.

Mrs. Starling tucked her daughter in for a tight embrace. Nessa buried her face into the crook of her mother's neck, standing on her tiptoes to do so. If only she'd inherited the height, life would've been so much easier—quidditch, too.

"Mum," Nessa began, "It's been grand, but I've got to go."

Her mother breathed in deeply and tightened her hold around Nessa's middle. "You don't have to go quite yet, my dearest girl," she said, her Irish accent thick and warm and smooth as honey.

"We're cutting it very close," Nessa answered, glancing over her shoulder at the train. Students were already waving out the windows.

Pouting, Mrs. Starling released Nessa and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Write me."

Nessa nodded, a sad smile gracing her lips. "You know I always do."

"And good luck leading your team this year," she flicked the pin clasped on the collar of her jean jacket. Nessa's chin lifted in pride. "No falling from great heights or hitting your noggin on one of those flying buggers."

"Bludgers," Nessa chuckled.

Mrs. Starling waved her off and pressed one last kiss to her forehead. "Goodbye, love."

Nessa put her quidditch training to test as she propelled herself passed swinging bags and trunks. The bell for last call rang throughout the station just as she leapt on the train.

She glanced back once she found her footing only to find misty grey eyes and a trembling chin in the distance. Her heart squeezed at the sight. But Nessa steeled herself. As Slytherin quidditch captain, she couldn't allow herself to be soft.

"Take care," her mum called as she climbed the stair. "School first, prefect duties second, then quid-ish—I love you!"

Nessa swallowed her laughter. "It's quidditch," she murmured to herself. How typical of her mother. If only dad were there to set things straight. He'd been so good with all the witchy concepts and cultural stuff throughout the years. But she was here, and her dad was in the States, where his job made it difficult to travel even to see his daughter off to her final year of school. Nessa did her best to not be bitter. At least he promised to see one of her matches this year. She bit the inside of her cheek. It would be something to look forward to.

Ignoring the lump in her throat, Nessa pulled the train door shut, blinking her eyes rapidly to keep water from welling up in the corners.

"Captain, eh?" A deep voice rumbled close behind, giving Nessa a start. "I guess Slytherin is capable of good judgment then."

Nessa swung herself around just as the train lurched forward, sending her crashing into James Potter's chest. The tips of her ears warmed to an unflattering shade of pink. How embarrassing.

"Be careful there, Potter," she said, doing a solid job of keeping her voice even despite the blush creeping up her neck. "I seem to recall that your brother is a member of my house."

James answered with a knitted brow, his green eyes sparkling. Had his eyelashes always been so long and dark?

"Potter?" He said. "Since when have we been on a last name basis?"

Nessa took a step back to give them some breathing room. They were standing far too close and she could smell his cologne. Her heart raced as the scent of broom polish and summer campfire filled her lungs. Maybe the three cups of coffee she'd downed on the plane this morning—or last night, now that she thought about it—weren't helping.

"Since now. We're officially rivals. Captains on even footing." She straightened out her jacket to give her hands something to do. "No more Ms. Nice Slytherin."

"Because we weren't rivals last year, or the year before that?" He mused a hand through his dark, windswept hair. "Or the year before—"

"I said _officially_ ," she cut him off, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to make herself look more intimidating. Though it was clearly a wasted effort. He stood tall at six feet, whereas she was a measly five foot two. They'd measured themselves the previous year on a bet from his cousin Fred that she was a full foot shorter than James. But she'd managed to walk away with five Galleons and her pride.

"We never played the same position," she pointed out."

"Oh," he said, a cheeky grin forming on his mouth. "Are you taking up the beater's bat now that you're captain?"

She shook her head. Patience with James was always a struggle. "We both hold leadership status this year, and I've deemed Gryffindor our greatest threat."

He smirked at that, his chest puffing out just slightly. "Too bad," he teased. "I've decided on Ravenclaw as ours." He shrugged off Nessa's stalwart glare. "But to each captain their own."

With a huff, Nessa motioned toward the hallway door. Muffling a yawn with her hand, she said, "I'd like to fit in a nap before the prefect meeting." She nodded at the handle he blocked with crossed arms. "If you'll excuse me."

"Of course," he answered with a winning smile. "After you, Starling."

* * *

Start of term prefect meetings on the train had never been Nessa's favorite. Mainly because half the students were dealing with motion sickness of some kind as they read through the year's list of programs, concerns, and patrol duty charts. Even now, a poor Ravenclaw fifth year was clutching his stomach, his cheeks pale as snow. But head boy, Carlisle Jones, was clearly on a roll.

Nessa's fellow seventh year Slytherin prefect rolled his eyes as Carlisle stood to address the group. Ira was never one to enjoy a lecture, even if it came from the mouth of the cute Hufflepuff he'd had his eye on since fourth year. She nudged him with her elbow to keep the bloke from nodding off mid-speech.

"I thought it was your job to keep _me_ awake," she teased him quietly.

Ira merely slumped deeper into his seat, an apology at the edge of his lips, but Carlisle cleared his throat, shooting the Slytherin side of the compartment an appraising glare. Ira sent him a cheeky wink before the Hufflepuff moved onto his next agenda item, his feathers clearly ruffled at the interruption.

"I'll have you know that I nearly fell asleep putting on my robes," Nessa confided, taking a long sip from her cup of coffee.

Her friend gave Nessa a once over, likely checking to see if she'd buttoned up her shirt inside out. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Spent your holiday in the States?" Ira asked a moment later as Carlisle fumbled with his note cards.

She nodded. "Got stuck at immigration this morning, nearly missed the train."

He shook his head, eyes glancing skyward. "Muggles."

"Hey," she stomped on his foot lightly with the heel of her boot. "My family's all no-maj—muggles."

"But _you_ are not a muggle."

"Regardless," she argued, her whispers heated. "I have to object by principle."

"If you weren't such a quidditch diehard, you'd make a good advocate for muggle rights," he answered calmly.

"Quiet in the corner!" Carlisle spoke harshly, eyeing daggers at them from behind his thick designer glasses.

Ira motioned zipping his lips and throwing away the key. It was all so very classy.

"Meeting adjourned," the head boy finally said with a prim sniff, tucking his note cards back into the pocket of his Hufflepuff robes.

As they all began filtering out of the room, Carlisle called out to the new prefects to huddle up. "Fifth years," he announced. "Don't forget to help guide first years to their common room after the feast. It is your sacred duty as a prefect. We have traditions to uphold."

"Sacred duty?" A familiar voice snorted at Nessa's side. "Sounds like my Uncle Percy."

Ira grimaced knowingly. "You'll have to get used to it, Al."

Though still a bit bleary eyed, Nessa did her best to smile warmly. "Congrats on making prefect."

"Thanks, Nessa," the fifth year tugged nervously on his green tie. "When are you planning on holding tryouts, captain?"

Nessa wheeled on Al and grabbed the edge of robe sleeve. His eyes widened, startled. "Are you seriously thinking of trying out for seeker?"

"Calm down," he said, raising his hands in quick defense, as if she were some wild beast.

But how could she be calm? The Potter family was notorious for many things, quidditch being one of them. His dad had been the youngest seeker in Hogwarts history and his mother went on to play for the bloody _Harpies_.

"Just asking for a friend," Al admitted suspiciously, making an effort to not meet her steely gaze.

"Then tell your _friend_ that trials are still TBA. I'll be putting up posters in the common room bulletin board as soon as I confirm the date with Slughorn and reserve the pitch."

That's right, there was still so much to do. Nessa's fingers were already itching to make some new additions to her playbook.

"Sure thing," Al said before waving farewell, his feet quick. Probably frightened off by her bullheadedness. She had a reputation for being rather headstrong. Nessa watched him snake through the crowd, catching up with Rose, another Weasley clan member who'd been predictably named a Gryffindor prefect this year.

"Hey," Ira said, pulling Nessa aside. Her coffee cup, thankfully empty at this point, fell from her hand. "Take the rest of the train ride to get some sleep. You look like the walking dead."

"Actually, I should really get working on my playbook while there's still time." She bit her lip, picking up the cup from the floor. When she stood, the world seemed to shift out of focus underneath her.

"When was the last time you took a rest?"

She answered honestly, "I think I shut my eyes for maybe ten minutes before the meeting, but before that…" she trailed and Ira shook his head.

He marched them over to an empty compartment. "Say no more," he declared, taking her by the elbow and shoving her inside. He slammed the door shut behind them, pulling a heafty NEWT-level astronomy text out of his bag.

"I'll be reading," he said, "so there's no snoring allowed."

"I wanted to see Amelia," Nessa pouted. She hadn't seen her best friend in months. "Why didn't you choose her compartment?"

"Accio Amelia Wood," Ira deadpanned, not even bothering to wave his wand for the full effect.

"You're mean," Nessa mumbled, settling on the cushioned bench regardless.

"I'm Slytherin," Ira answered simply. "Deal with it."

* * *

The Great Hall was bustling with warmth and laughter as students filed in for the welcome feast. Stomach growling, Nessa scanned the Slytherin table, searching for a friendly face. Not one for big crowds, Ira tended to skip start of term dinners, so she kept a look out for her teammates.

"Vanessa, my love!" A body slammed into her back.

With a small yelp, Nessa turned and smiled bright at the squeal that left her best friend's lips.

"Amelia," Nessa answered in kind, her blood racing with joy. "Come here," she said, wrapping the Ravenclaw into a bear hug.

Having met during flying lessons first year, and as the only girls able to join their respective quidditch teams by second year (Nessa had been on the reserves, but still), they had forged an unbreakable bond. Their friendship was based on love and quidditch. It was honestly the only thread of light she could hold onto during her first years at Hogwarts, since her housemates seemed mystified that a muggleborn could manage to trick the sorting hat into allowing her to join the ranks of such a _prestigious_ house.

"I need some tea," Nessa groaned into Amelia's shoulder, letting the brunt of her body's weight fall into her lean arms.

"Then you're in the right place, love." She grabbed Nessa's hand. "Sit with the ravens tonight."

But Nessa pulled back slightly. "For breakfast, definitely. But tonight I thought I'd sit with my team," she said, mumbling, "If I can find them."

Amelia's nose scrunched up. "What do you mean? You never want to sit at your house's table."

Nessa shrugged, her new badge catching the candlelight. "I thought it would be a nice thing to do, as Captain."

"Captain!" Amelia let out another squeal and gripped her by the shoulders. "How could you not tell me in your letters?"

"I thought this might be more fun," she said. "And I was right."

"Fine," she gave in, releasing her friend. "Go sit with your snakes, but I expect full details tomorrow, understand?"

"You got it," Nessa agreed, giving her a cheesy thumbs-up.

Amelia sighed, walking away. "How I missed that bloody American accent."

With a grin plastered across her cheeks, Nessa settled herself down at a table, where fifth year Adam Verity, fellow Slytherin chaser, waved frantically.

"Captain, my captain," he said, raising his glass in her direction once the sorting and speeches had wrapped up.

"Settle down, Verity," she answered, tucking a napkin over her lap before digging into her meal. "And not so loud."

"Why? You don't think the entire house doesn't already know?" Susan Derrick said, jostling Nessa's shoulder lightly before crashing herself down beside Blake Zambini. "As if Flint wasn't bitching about it from the moment he stepped foot onto the train."

Nessa, reaching for a roll, shuttered at the mention of Flint. "He will just have to deal with it."

"You earned it, Ness," Adam added on, his mouth already half stuffed with roast. "Truly."

"I appreciate that," she told him, pleased by the nods of agreement going around their little group. "But how was everyone's holiday? Did we get some training in?" She asked expectantly.

Susan was first to volunteer. "I was a lifeguard."

Adam laughed. "So you freely admit that you just sat on your arse all summer?"

Nessa coughed and quickly inspected her team. Susan had a flattering tan under her robes, but it was hard to tell muscle definition when wearing the Hogwarts uniform. Blake looked willowy as usual, but perhaps his shoulders had gone a bit broader? That was good. When she turned to Adam he was ready.

Straightening his posture, the fifth year gave her a proud dip of his chin. "I grew two inches this summer. Can you believe it?"

Nessa sniffed primly. "When I see it." Turning back to Susan, she begged, "You're a beater, please tell me you at least lifted over break?"

Susan shrugged, more concerned with building a mountain out of her mashed potatoes and peas. "On especially sunny days I lifted an umbrella over my chair. And I lifted small children after closing if they refused to exit the pool."

"We work our magic in the sky, Susie," Adam chimed in. "Not the water."

Susan narrowed her eyes. "You know better than to call me Susie."

Nessa held in a frustrated groan. "That's not the point," she said. There was clearly a lot of work to be done to get this team ready to go up against the other houses.

Blake gave her back a reassuring pat, clearly sensing her distress. Not that she was really making an effort of hiding it.

Though deadly with a beater's bat on the pitch, Blake tended to maneuver through Hogwarts with an unparalleled Hufflepuff-level gentleness. He'd never spoken the word _mudblood_ (as far as she knew), which was something she couldn't say for a good chunk of the students sitting at this very table.

"I flew every day," Adam said, trying to be helpful.

Nessa turned to her least chatty teammate and raised a brow. "And you, Blake? What do you have to say for yourself?"

He shrugged and reached for a cup of vanilla pudding. But Susan, quick as a whip, grabbed him by the arm to check in on his biceps. She squeezed a few times making inscrutable faces as Blake let out a long-suffering sigh. In the end, Nessa surmised he'd clearly kept up with his beater training because Susan gave her captain an approving wink once Blake finally pulled his arm free of the girl's clutches.

Adam scowled and vigorously cut at his plate of bloody steak.

Nessa smirked with gratitude and amusement before shifting her gaze to glance down the bench, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of the aforementioned Mason Flint. If he had a bone to pick with her she wished he'd get it over and done with.

A throat cleared itself behind her. "Excuse me, Miss Starling."

Nessa turned and hid her grimace best she could. "Professor Slughorn, pleasure to see you."

His wrinkled face lit up in goodhearted cheer. "It's a pleasure for me as well, to see my newly minted quidditch captain," he nodded to the hallway. "May I have a word in private?"

"Of course, sir," she said, placing her napkin onto the empty plate in front of her. "Poster crafting Wednesday after dinner, in the library?" Her team nodded back in agreement. It was tradition, after all.

Adam gave her a salute. "You got it, captain."

"My name is Nessa," she said, standing to her feet. "When we're off the pitch feel free to use it." She didn't stick around to hear his response, but Nessa doubted he would take her at her word.

* * *

Slughorn guided her to a sheltered alcove by the main stairwell. The sounds of clinking glasses and laughter faded into faint echoes. Did he want to talk strategy in private? She began tugging lightly at the ends of her robe sleeves.

"Did you enjoy your summer holiday?" He asked mildly, tightening a hand around his cane.

"It was nice," she said. "But I'm eager to get back to flying."

He cocked his head. "You mean you haven't been in the air since last term?"

"I'm muggleborn, Professor," she reminded him. "I live with my father over summer break in the states, and he lives in a no-maj village. I'd be risking exposure."

His brows rose. "And you've been doing that every summer?"

She nodded, cheeks reddening by the second. This wasn't a normal problem for most Slytherin students. A majority of her housemates were pureblood or half-blood, at the very least.

"And yet you're still one of Slytherin's best flyers," he said.

Nessa stood a little taller, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

"But," he continued, his tone shifting to something more tentative. "Speaking of Slytheirn's best, there's one student I'd like to talk about in particular…"

"Yes, professor?" She asked, fighting heavily against the urge to run for the hills.

"Last term we had a bit of a… disciplinary issue."

Nessa remembered it clear as day. "With one of my fellow chasers," she said. "Flint was removed from the team."

"Yes, well…" His smile grew sweet. "I'm not sure word has spread yet, but I'm planning on retiring at the end of the year."

 _Where was he going with this?_

"That's a downright shame, professor," she said, trying not to sound too pleased for the future Hogwarts students who would never know the woes of the dreaded Slug Club.

"Thank you, dear girl," he nodded, leaning forward. "I would like to go out with a bang. Winning the House Cup might do the trick, don't you think?"

"The quidditch team will do its part as always," Nessa assured. He wouldn't have picked her to lead if he thought she'd run the team to the ground.

"Good," Slughorn said, resting a hand over his chest. "Splendid, really. I had some ideas regarding the make up of this year's team."

"Yes, sir?" She reached carefully for the playbook tucked in her robe pocket, but something in her gut was souring.

"I'm aware of your rather unpleasant past with Mr. Flint," he said.

Nessa's breath caught in her throat. That had been an understatement of the rudest sort.

"He will be part Slytherin's team this year," Slughorn continued nonplussed. "He's paid his dues and reassured me he wants to continue playing." Slughorn leaned in. "As I said before, I would very much like to win the cup this year, Miss Starling."

Nessa knuckles went white around her journal. She did her best to keep an even tone.

"Sir," she coughed, doing her best to keep an even, mature tone. "With all due respect, there are other students who have their hearts set on trying out for the team. I plan on giving them a fair go."

Slughorn pursed his lips. Disapproval leaked from every pore, but it wasn't as though he could shoot that statement down. She was in the right. Nessa breathed in through her nose as her head of house sorted out his response.

"Maybe I misjudged you, Miss Starling..." Slughorn trailed off, eyes snagging on her new badge.

Fire blazed through her veins. Was that a _threat?_

She mustered up some strength and spoke with false cheer before he could finish that sentence. "If he shows up for trials, I'll see to it that he gets a fair shot."

In a flash, Slughorn returned to his previous state of withered, elderly charm, gracing her with a quick nod of approval.

She hid her wince like a born actress. As a first year, she often doubted her sorting. Why Slytherin? How could she ever dream of fitting in with all the ruthless, self-assured badasses? If this moment was a coming of age—she'd failed.

If only she could tell Slughorn that Flint wasn't worthy of wearing their colors. Flint didn't deserve an inch of loyalty, or a second chance. He'd lost that a long time ago.

"Very good, Miss Starling." He winked. "Have a good night."

"Good night, professor," she muttered as he ambled away, nails digging tight into his walking cane. "And good riddance."


	2. September II

**Chapter 2 – September II**

As the first muggleborn Slytherin quidditch captain in Hogwarts history, Nessa has a lot to prove. Will she have what it takes to win the house cup? OCxJames

* * *

AN: Hello, I've finally updated! It took a long time to get my shit together, but here we are. Yay!

Slytherin team as of September 1st:

Captain, Center Chaser—Nessa Starling (7th Year)

Left Wing Chaser—Adam Verity (5th Year)

Right Wing Chaser—TK

Beater—Susan Derrick (6th Year)

Beater—Blake Zambini (6th Year)

Keeper—TK

Seeker—TK

* * *

Tigerblood – Vistas

 _The feeling you get when you're hypnotized and the feeling you get looking in snake eyes. Tell me what you want and then tell me how to be it._

* * *

With dawn breaking overhead, Nessa jogged through the fog-laden Hogwarts grounds. A cloudburst overnight left the long grass stuck in clumps. She swore softly at the spotting of mud on the backs of her leggings, but a yawn muffled any continued words of protest.

She trotted down through the greenhouses and looped widely around the Whomping Willow. The path was slippery, but she managed to make her way toward the lake without falling. Just as she was about the tie her hair into a loose braid, she stumbled, barely catching herself as she took in the sight of James Potter stretching along the shoreline.

Nessa's lips pulled into a tight line, her eyes lifting to the rose colored sky. After a sleepless night spent mulling over Slughorn's words, could she not be rewarded with a moment of true peace?

"Morning, Starling," James said, blinking in the early morning light.

Nessa approached with careful steps and rested her water bottle beside a boulder that keenly resembled a troll. She tried to expel any annoyance from her posture as he peeked out at her from under his ridiculously long eyelashes.

"Good morning," she finally croaked in return, her voice weary with exhaustion. "Never pegged you as an early riser."

James mused his dark hair, turning to look out at the lake. He breathed in the crisp autumn air wafting off the gentle waves. "Mum got me started on training seriously over the holiday. It's a habit now, to rise with the sun."

"You're going pro," Nessa surmised. Not surprised at the admission.

James set his jaw and pulled at his _Holyhead Harpies_ tee, mud and sweat stained the soft fabric. Nessa tried not to stare where it clung to his broad shoulders. He was definitely built like a professional beater—that was for sure.

"Aunt Angie says scouts start attending matches after Christmas. I need to be ready for them."

Nessa nodded, confident in the fact James would be more than ready by January. Being the son of both the youngest seeker in Hogwart's history and a Holyhead alum was one thing, but even she couldn't deny his skill with a beater's bat. Not that she'd ever admit it out loud.

"Are you?" James inclined his head, watching her form closely as she leaned into a stretch.

Nessa tried to keep the greed from her eyes. She was a muggleborn and a chaser. She had as good of a chance becoming a dragon tamer. "If they'll have me," she finally choked out.

He clicked his tongue. "Where's your Slytherin ambition?"

"As you know," Nessa answered, switching legs, "chasers aren't exactly hard to come by."

"If you could pick a team," James said, "any team, who would you fly for?"

Nessa's eyes once again trailed on the words branded across his chest, but then settled on her next best answer. "Puddlemere."

His lip tugged up at the corner. "Figures," he shrugged, teasing. "You being a Wood fanatic and all."

"I'm a loyal friend of the family, that's all," Nessa puffed.

James would probably laugh if he knew Ameila's dad had been the one to buy Nessa her first broom—a Cleansweep. She kept good care of it until her fifth year, when she saved up enough money to upgrade by taking shifts as Madam Pince's assistant in the library.

Nessa brushed back a few flyaway hairs behind her ear, shifting her gaze to survey the shoreline. A layer of silver clouds hung low over the lake. "Either way, they might not get a chance to see me fly." She frowned. "If Slughorn gets his way."

"What do you mean?" James asked, leaning himself against the troll boulder, arms crossed.

"It's nothing."

"Nessa," he murmured, voice low.

She huffed and tightened the knot at the end of her braid. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it in the first place."

James paused before he laid down his trump card. "I could always ask Al."

"He wouldn't tell you anything," she retorted, wrapping her arms close to hug herself. If he found out— _when_ he found out, she corrected herself (Hogwarts was known for its gossip)—Albus wouldn't betray his house in that way.

"He's family." James pointed out.

Nessa deflated and rubbed at her eyes, trying to wipe away any trace of fatigue. James had a point. If she ever had to make that choice, she'd choose her siblings over Slytherin any day. Not that it would be a difficult choice. Most of her fellow snakes held a general distain for her as a muggleborn. Some prejudices, Nessa had come to learn, were hard to break. Over the summer break she often wondered which of her housemates would prefer Flint as captain—even if he had been the one to break their lead in their final match against Hufflepuff last year by cursing her broom.

The words rushed out of her. "Slughorn said that if I didn't let Flint play I'd lose my captaincy."

James looked as though she had hit him with stupefy. "Is that what he told you when you left the feast?" He said, incredulous.

She nodded, trying not to read into why he may have noted her absence from dessert the night before.

James rubbed his temples. "So, he threatened you."

"Yes," she said plainly.

"He's a professor, that's just wrong." James squeezed his water bottle so tight his knuckles went white. "You can't let Flint play, not after—"

"I know," Nessa answered, letting her steely grey eyes meet his. "I'm hoping to come to a compromise."

James barked a laugh, though its source was clearly not humorous in nature. It made Nessa uneasy. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and said, "There's always a loophole. I'm clever enough to find one. Don't you think?"

Potter's face was unreadable, but he didn't move to deny her claim.

Figuring out her next move had kept her up all night. Nessa was determined to hold her rank and to give the Cup her best go. If that meant agreeing to Slughorn's terms, she would do her best to get something good out of it.

"Well," he sniffed, moving toward the path back to school. "If you've got your cleverness, I've got my aim." He swung his arm as though he were holding a beater's bat. "If that git steps a toe out of line, he'll be in the hospital wing before you can say quidditch."

"I appreciate the chivalry," she called after his retreating form. "But I think I can handle Flint."

James had the sense to look at least a little bashful, tucking his chin before taking another step. "I know."

Nessa took off on her run, blood pumping and heart set before the Gryffindor had rounded the bend. She had a plan. Nessa was Slytherin's quidditch captain, and she had a plan.

* * *

The Great Hall was bustling with students full of back-to-school jitters by the time Nessa arrived for breakfast with clean hair and fresh robes, smelling of lavender. She pulled herself on a bench across from Ira and downed a coffee before reaching for the nearest basket of toast.

"Sleep well, Ness?" Ira asked, peering over his morning edition of _The Daily Prophet._

Smearing her bread with an obscene layer of jam, she said, "I'm looking forward to my first opportunity to nap."

Ira slid over her timetable. "I'm afraid that will have to wait for tomorrow."

Nessa peered apprehensively at the parchment, a sense of dread settling in her gut. She groaned, tucking back into her breakfast. "Remind me again why I signed up for more potions after OWLs?"

"Because the ministry has high standards for their applicants," Ira said, nursing his tea. "If quidditch doesn't work out, you'll need to fall back on something."

"The question was rhetorical," Nessa snapped lightly.

Ira sniffed and folded his paper neatly into the messenger bag at his side.

"Will you at least be there?" She asked, hope in her voice.

"I've got Herbology," Ira told her. Though he didn't sound much happier than her.

Nessa let her shoulders sink. "Good luck. I bet if you move quick you can land Jones as your partner."

"And listen to him tell me how to properly shovel dirt into a pot?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a masochist."

"He's the best in our year," Nessa said.

"I don't need a reminder of that," he answered pointedly, not meeting her eyes.

Ah, Nessa realized. Ira was still bitter he'd lost out on Head Boy. All August he wrote her, venting his frustrations. Most of it concerned McGonagall's prejudice toward their house, but, on that point, Nessa had little to argue. Slytherin was capable of cruelty. She had felt it first hand as a muggleborn. McGonagall surely had her reasons for bias.

"Either way, try to make the best of it," Nessa encouraged despite her own despair.

He chuckled at that and flashed her a quick grin. "Same to you."

Once Ira left for class Nessa stewed over another cup of coffee before rising with the other stragglers and heading out of the hall. She took her time stepping down into the dungeons, though. At least this would be her last first day of potions. The thought seemed to give her enough cheer to make it to class and slip inside unnoticed by Slughorn setting up his supplies at the front desk.

There was an open cauldron in the back and Nessa made a path toward it. She got settled, taking out her playbook to scribble down some plays before class began, but she had to hold in a shiver when the breath of her seatmate tickled her ear.

"You don't deserve it," Mason Flint said as he lowered himself down beside her.

Nessa slammed her notebook shut.

"Riley only picked you because he assumed I'd been expelled," he continued mildly.

Nessa turned to Flint, nostrils flared. "If that's the lie that helps you sleep at night, then that's fine. But keep away from me and my team, Flint," she warned, eyes narrowing into silver daggers. "And while you're at it, find yourself another cauldron. You've already tried pulling down our team, I don't need you dragging down my grades, too."

He let out a single puff of laughter, his dark eyes dancing. Obviously, something about her defensive anger amused him. But whatever words he was about to say died on his tongue as Slughorn cleared his throat to begin the lesson.

Nessa slid down the bench a few inches, hoping the space would give her some peace of mind.

It didn't.

Still, Nessa took studious notes even as her stomach twisted into knots. They were tasked with creating a love potion—sixth year material really, but Slughorn said it would be a good way to warm up the class. Due to the tricky nature of the potion, Nessa kept a trained eye on her partner. He volunteered the fetch the ingredients and she knew that was not a good sign. Flint was one of the worst Slytherin had to offer. Him being helpful was code for him being devious. Nessa would have to be careful.

Slughorn wandered the room, checking in on students with a running commentary on the state of their brew. When he wasn't looking, Nessa was sure Flint had run into her, rose thorns outstretched, on purpose. It was a nasty shock. Blood leaked from the small pricking wounds, but she didn't rise to the bait. Nessa couldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Sorry," he shrugged, a tricky smile painting his lips. "Won't happen again."

For your sake, she thought viciously, I hope so.

The only thing keeping her remotely sane was the scent of summer bonfires and mountain air wafting from the cauldron. Where had she smelt it before?

"When are tryouts?" Flint asked, as she stirred the last ingredient into their pot.

She breathed in deeply, the contents of their potion giving off a mild dizzying effect. Butterflies fluttering in her stomach, Nessa answered, "I'll post a date and time in the common room when I have a chance to reserve the pitch."

He hummed, leaning in close to take a sniff of the pearly mixture. He shook his head. Nessa figured a sense of wooziness must have been affecting him as well. "I heard you spoke with Old Sluggy last night," Flint said.

Nessa didn't answer. She instead gathered up their ingredients and shuffled them off to the storage closet. When she returned, of course, Flint picked up where he left off.

"My father went on to play for the Tornados, you know."

"I'm aware," she said, though not patiently.

"Slughorn is too," he whispered. "He also knows that my family has connections with the ministry. And," he added, "that I'm bloody good at quidditch."

Nessa straightened, her blood boiling. You have a plan, she reminded herself, resisting the urge to stomp on his polished loafers.

"So you better not get in my way."

Her eyes nearly rolled out of her head. "Or what? You'll knock me off my broom? Again?"

"There are worse things than falling off a broom," he said, standing to his full height, " _mudblood."_

* * *

"Give him your arm," Susan ordered Nessa, nodding to Blake.

She groaned, but did as instructed, pulling up the sleeve of her flannel. It had been hours since Flint had stung her with the rose thorns, but instead of tending to them with some basic healing charms (Nessa had never been quite up to snuff at those despite her many quidditch injuries) she plastered Disney princess Band-Aids on the bleeding bits. It was exceptionally muggle-esque and her team all seemed tempted to laughter at the sight of her exposed forearms.

"It's nothing," she told Blake, but he didn't seem to hear her protests, taking her arm and gently turning it to examine the array of scratches. His mouth pressed into a tight line.

"An attack on our captain is an attack on all of us," Susan said, spreading out a few posters across the library floor. A light hush from Madam Pince from beyond the tall shelves made Nessa flush, but Susan waved off the old librarian and leaned close, her voice softer. "Not matter how slight."

Nessa sucked in a breath as Blake's knitting magic worked its way across her skin, closing the small lesions with ease. He gave her hand a small squeeze when it was over.

"He just wants to unsettle us." Nessa said, deciding to omit the word choice Flint used to coincide with his other threat. She brushed her fingers over where the cuts used to be. "And take the captaincy away from me."

Adam fidgeted with a pack of markers. "He'd be a wretched captain. Hasn't got a patient bone in his troll-like body."

"But he will try out like the rest of the other hopefuls," Nessa assured them. "I promised Slughorn I'd give him a fair shot."

"Was that what you two were chatting about?" Adam asked with a furrowed brow, his light features shifting to something darker. "Because that's not fair. Flint nearly killed you last term."

"It's unlike Slughorn to oversee something like that," Susan said, tucking her hands into the pockets of her Appleby Arrows sweatshirt.

"I think Flint's dad wants him to follow in his footsteps. The only way to be scouted is to play," Nessa mused. "He must've had a word with Slughorn. Convinced Slug to give his son another go."

"Ugh," Susan shivered. "It's just disgusting," she said, turning to Nessa. "Please say I can give Flint a run for it during trials? I can't wait to give him a piece of my mind."

Nessa motioned to Adam for a marker. "What we need to be focusing on are our plans for tryouts," she said, drawing on a poster sheet with confident strokes. "I would like to hear any feedback you have, but when it comes to dealing with Flint…" she raised her steely eyes to her three teammates. "Leave it to me."

On her way back from the library, a couple of recruitment posters tucked under her arm, Nessa decided on a detour to the kitchens. It was well past curfew, but she couldn't resist. Two nights in a row of no dessert was not something she could manage. Especially with all the drama of the term so far, she needed her strength. How was it possible she had only been back at Hogwarts one day?

Noting the corridors prefects were assigned to patrol, she meandered her way to the pear portrait nearest the Hufflepuff common room, dodging the usual monitored routes. Nessa had picked up on the ticking pear trick a few years back, having trailed Fred and Roxanne Weasley after lessons and overhearing their plans to provide their cousin Dom with a cake for her birthday.

The discovery was a charming one, and lucky, too. It forged her habit of bringing coffee and tea and other sweets to early morning practices, which earned the appreciation of her teammates, and eventually, their loyalty. After all, one of her mother's favorite words of wisdom pertained to winning the love of others through their stomach. Turns out, it applied exceedingly well to athletes. Susan especially had come around to her after she'd made a habit of stocking up on dark chocolate croissants for an after-match treat. Her favorite.

But tonight, Nessa merely wanted to cradle a steaming mug of hot chocolate and sip it slow. Hopefully, by the time she made it back to her dorm, her roommates would be fast asleep. Even after six years of sharing a room, none of the four girls had taken a liking to Nessa. It saddened her when she allowed herself to dwell on it, but it was something she'd come to slowly accept. Even these days, well into a time of peace among witches and wizards, there was still prejudice among houses and students alike. As a muggleborn witch place in Slytherin House, Nessa had seen more than enough cruelty for a lifetime.

"Miss Starling, oh, Miss Starling," a house-elf by the name of Pinky greeted her at the portrait door. The little thing swung her arms open wide at the sight of Nessa and rushed forward. "Welcome back! What can Pinky do for you?"

Nessa knelt to return the hug as best she could while cradling posters under her arm. "Pinky, it's so nice to see you. Just a cup of hot chocolate, please."

She nodded, her bulging blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Right away, Miss Starling. Right away."

Nessa chuckled and gave her thanks, settling herself at her usual corner by the hearth. Resting her pack beside the fireplace, she rummaged inside for a pen and some loose parchment. She began smoothing out the paper as Pinky placed her mug of steaming, whip cream topped drink on the small wooden table beside her. She dropped a plate of apple pie in front of her as well. What an angel.

"For you, Miss," Pinky said. "Pinky hopes Miss Starling had a good first day of classes."

"It was a little tough," Nessa admitted, "but seeing you again is helping immensely." Nessa graced the little house-elf with a sincere smile. "And please, I've told you before, feel free to call me Nessa. All my friends do."

Pinky blushed at the suggestion of friendship and Nessa's heart swelled. She watched as the house-elf shuffled off to tend to the many dishes left over from dinner, sending them floating above the sink with a wave of her hand, bubbles and suds washing the plates in soothing circles.

Relaxing into the warmth of the kitchens, Nessa took a small sip of her sweet drink. It was warm and rich, just as she once asked Pinky to prepare it when she was homesick, craving her father's hot cocoa recipe during fifth year.

She peered back over her parchment, searching for the right words to ease the ache of homesickness and belonging warring inside her. Often, Nessa yearned for a way to share the magic of Hogwarts with her family. Letters, it seemed, was the best way of soothing that ache, so Nessa took in a measured breath and pressed her pen to the parchment.

 _Dear Mum,_

 _I miss you already and it's only been a day. Typical, I know._

 _Classes have begun and they're looking as though they'll be as challenging as ever. I didn't realize how much I was taking on last year when NEWT-level classes began. Hopefully, NEWT testing won't be as rigorous as the OWLs, but at least these exams won't be quizzing my knowledge of algebra. Though the assessment is an abbreviation for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test, so take that as you will._

 _I'm looking forward to quidditch, as always. Please note that you and dad are invited to attend a match in the spring. I'll be sending on the dates when Miss Bell announces them. They usually fall on weekends, so that should help with work and travel. Afterwards, I can get permission from the Headmistress to take you into Hogsmeade for a butterbeer. It'll be a treat, I swear._

Nessa paused, deciding to omit any mention of her troubles with Slughorn and Flint. Her mother worried enough about her day-to-day experience at Hogwarts, so she decided to share the more cheery tidings.

 _Being reunited with Ira and Amelia has been a relief, and I'm looking forward to spending late nights in the library poring over books and homework with them._ _Hope your trip to the States goes well. I know how you feel about planes, so I'll be magicking you all the luck for low turbulence. P_ _lease send on my love to dad, Nick, and Val. And give Mocha a treat for me, she's a lovely owl and flew many miles to find you._

 _Love you always,_

 _Nessa_


End file.
